


I woke up in

by Ioga



Series: Original Stories / Loose Inspiration Only [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Dissociation, F/M, Groundhog Day, Psychological Horror, Science Experiments, Speculative fiction, Supernatural Elements, therapeutic writing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 07:55:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 6
Words: 2,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7566223
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ioga/pseuds/Ioga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>You hear people describe feeling outside of their body or somehow "escape" from something bad happening to them, not being "present" in themselves to spare themselves.</p><p>Have you ever considered who it is that takes the wheel while you're out?</p><p>(Various trigger warnings apply. Contains unpleasant events.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shower

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Recovery](https://archiveofourown.org/works/306299) by [shambling](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shambling/pseuds/shambling). 



> This story is a quick speculative exploration of the psychological theme of dissociation. I wrote it primarily to get some unpleasant flashes out of my head. This posting is inspired by shambling's Recovery. I just beat it into a plotline to be able to get it out; the story is therefore complete but may theoretically grow from the middle if I need to do more spring cleaning later.

I woke up in the shower.   
  
The neighbour, a slightly maybe demented graying man, had showed up in the room and grabbed me from behind. As the water kept running, he hoarsely panted in my ear phrases like "I want to boink you real good" while groping for my breasts and rubbing his pelvis against my buttocks.  
  
I was frozen from the sudden invasion, as often seems to happen. The space was cramped, the primary escape would have likely required turning towards the man and using explosive violence. I was considering different options in my head to keep from focusing too much about what was going on.  
  
He was wearing some kind of light pants, maybe shorts, that had gotten soggy on entry to the shower corner. I could feel the thing he wanted to put inside me poking against my thigh when he was wet-humping me.  
  
His second hand switched targets from my breasts to slide between my legs.   
  
"You're all wet here, aren't you? You want to be getting some, you naughty girl!"  
  
I was considering if I should point out to him that it is really quite customary to get wet in the shower with or without physical arousal, and how it would not even then follow that I would be wanting anything from him. But I realized my vocal chords were not working.   
  
Just my luck.  
  
Or maybe not. He might have been violent too, unpredictable. I dug my available memories for any predictions on how it would go, but they felt strangely fuzzy. I pondered if I had some kind of memory disorder or if they were just not very well organized.  
  
Meanwhile the invader had squeezed me against the cold tile surface in the corner and managed to get his thing out of his pants, as it was being now hastily crammed against my private parts.  
  
Some tears of frustration that might as well not have been mine were mixing into the water splashing on my face as the man's cock managed to slide in and he started to fuck me vigorously. All along he kept making sounds in my ear, either little jerky panting or absurd "oh you are so good"s.  
  
Luckily he did not last very long and with a few more elongated pushes, stiffened all over and then slackened in the strategical parts after orgastic release. He slapped me on my right buttock twice on his way out, calling me a good little whore. He'd be back next week.  
  
I raked my mind for knowledge of how to stop him from doing so while his cum was still dripping down my inner thigh. My legs felt slightly wobbly but my knees were locked so they held.   
  
Upon focusing hard I got the impression he was maybe a landlord or something. All my thoughts felt strangely all-visual and nonconceptual.  
  
Oh well, maybe I was developmentally challenged somehow. It would explain why he'd just barge into my shower and not worry about consequences.  I promised myself if I'd one day wake up in the neighbourhood long enough to keep a functional mind, I'd come here to kick his ass.  
  
Another day, another promise.  
  
I rinsed myself with hot water and finished my shower. When I turned to pick up the towel, I felt the familiar fading and fell asleep again.


	2. A Refugee Camp

I woke up in a refugee camp. 

The air was freezing cold, the shack I was in was leaking from the ceiling and a puddle was forming on the ground close by. 

I remembered my father had gotten a text message from a secret number saying to contact some man who wanted to marry me for what turned out to be three months, an arrangement which was referred to as _nikah al-mutah_. My father would be well compensated, as was customary.

This body was not entirely frozen in place, as the cold in the air kept it shaking. The man to marry me was nearby, gestured me to follow. I complied, but managed to grab my meager belongings with me before getting up.

He did not talk on the way. From the way he had behaved after paying off my father, it seemed he considered me quite well-domesticated property. I agreed, my general personality seemed quite timid and prone to tuning out as needed. Today it was time for me to slip in to fill the leftover space.

It became apparent this was likely our wedding night, and my newly-wed husband was planning to move on to consummation without any particularly complex rituals. He had a slightly more fancy shack for the purpose, with even a bed. It seemed borrowed; I was not sure if he was planning to take more wives before returning to whereever he came from with his loot.

The bed smelled. The man was not dressed like he belonged to a camp. I was more and more convinced he was only borrowing this room for the specific purpose.

It felt a bit wrong to consider doing what I considered doing. But only a little bit.

He instructed me to undress and assume an appropriate position in which he could penetrate me. I calculated odds of survival and found deep inside myself a small faint echo that I decided would agree that the thought was worth risking a bit.

I behaved most compliantly, stashed my belongings as my pillow and offered myself to be violated by this stranger who apparently now owned me.

When he relaxed and lowered his guard to enjoy the moment, I slid my hand into my bag and grabbed the fruit knife I had earlier discovered from father's bag. With a mighty two-handed push I sunk it into his belly, then pulled it out and finally stabbed into his lower throat where it wrenched from my hand as he bolted, screaming in a gurgly, unnaturally silent way.

I quickly collected my clothes, got dressed and decided I would casually prance as far and fast from here as I could in the grey of night before I would fade out again. 

It was not very nice to leave a body in a pinch like this and I swore to myself I'd one day come back here and change everyone's lives for the better.

It was a good body, too. I managed to sneak out and keep going for a day and a half before the adrenaline and stress and panic and shock from paternal betrayal in a strange place wore off and I started to fade again. I looked around and ran over to try to fall asleep somewhere nearby a Red Crescent tent. I figured they might have someone around to deal with disoriented amnesics.

This was a not altogether unpleasant thought to hold onto as my last before I faded again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: My knowledge of the named traditions is extremely superficial. "Temporary marriages" just happen to fit the plot and are topical, while it should be remembered that the high-level phenomena has been universal in all places where families are under sufficiently high stress, independent of prevailing culture. Chaos gives birth to sad children.


	3. A Chair

I woke up in a chair.

I was in some kind of an office with a man in a white coat. A doctor's, maybe? For a moment I was relieved, maybe this was just a vaccination or a very unwelcome surprise diagnosis that had summoned me. The doctor was watching me from his own chair, but did not look like he was about to assault me.

I could not sense other people in the room, and decided to risk turning my head to look around to confirm this.

"Hello, Tourist."

The doctor seemed to be talking to me. I looked at him, somewhat disoriented. I was certain he was not using any names this body should respond to.

He smiled at my frown. "No, it's alright. I'm talking to you, not to the person who was here a moment ago, sitting where you sit."

I was still staring at him blankly. I could not find anything sensible in my memories of why the doctor would be crazy, nor that I would have had any reason to be afraid of him.

The strange man kept talking in the slow, steady voice professionals use to try to keep patients calm and more easily controlled.

"You are in the body of a helpful volunteer who has agreed to tune out to allow you to appear."

Shit. He was talking to ME, not my body. And he had some way to summon me? I still couldn't remember anything of why I was here. Against all my jaded routine, I was starting to get seriously agitated.

It's not every day that you have people from the outside world trying to make contact with you, after all.

I must have been gaping at him for a good while, but when I glanced at the time it had only moved by a minute or two.

"I'm performing research. I would like to ask you a few questions. Where were you during the Nazi concentration camps?"

I frowned at him. "The whatnow? Nowhere, as far as I know."

"Where were you when the Twin Towers fell?" 

I stared at him, and furiously raked my memory. I had some kind of recollection of these events from my body, but like everything in the present, it seemed detached and grey. It had no meaning to me.

I shrugged at him, confused.

"What is your earliest memory of your own?"

"I don't like to think about it," I fired back. "Why are you asking all these questions?"

"I am trying to find a way to identify you individually."

For a moment I could not even understand what he was saying, but the implications started to sink in and brought a cold sweat to my back.

"There are more than one..." 

He nodded. "As far as I can tell, there are. Some go a very long way back. I am only starting to map this out."

There were so many questions I wanted to ask now! But the regular occupant of my body was returning, and I started to fade. As my last words I shrieked a "I'm Medina!" but was not sure if he heard me.

It was a hastily invented name, but I wanted to be a name, not some historical event.


	4. A Stage

I woke up in front of a huge audience.

My mind was still reeling. It was usually so easy for me to just find out what I was supposed to do, but now I wasn't just a filler after all, A person had just talked to me. I had heard there were more like me! Now that I thought of it, it felt obvious, even. 

I wanted to learn what he had found out! I wanted to talk to others of my kind! Maybe he could make two people fade out in the same room for the purpose?

I had to find a way to get back to him.

Discarding my current body's goals from my plans, I simply bolted from the scene, to the amazed uproar of the spectators. 

I expertly dodged and riposted the helpful staff who tried to stop me from leaving the scene. They were nothing like trained prison guards, not even close to being as scary as drunken aggressive family members to a small child body, and lacked the menace of an execution squad. I cut through them without even sparing a thought and was free.

The arena was some kind of old concert house and had no computers anywhere in sight. I cursed at how the doctor had not been sensible enough to leave a way for me to contact him! 

Then it occurred to me that maybe it was deliberate. What did an individual's feelings matter to him, if he was only mapping us for glorification of his own career? Maybe instead of going to him for information, I should instead teach him some humility and get back to him for trying to play God with my life and others'?

The situation had not been disturbing enough; the body was already calming down when I had just paused momentarily to puzzle at the situation. Swearing to myself, I faded out again.


	5. The Floor

I woke up with my face smashing into the cold stone floor. 

It was not an unheard-of situation, but it was incredibly difficult to accept and wait for it to pass when I had a goal to pursue. I needed to be somewhere else than here getting violently killed!

My nose was already broken, but it was not stopping whoever had their fist in my hair. On the second hit to the floor, my teeth broke through my lips and I lost sight in one eye.

I was unusually motivated to fight my way out but was restrained too heavily. With enough rounds it started to get hard to think anything at all. I could not even analyze if it was a concussion or internal bleeding.

It took an agonizingly long time to finally lose consciousness.


	6. A Disaster Site

I woke up under a crumbled wall.

I realized my legs and pelvis were pinned under rubble and wanted to just cry. Why couldn't people get into unbearable situations while sitting in front of a computer with an Internet connection? I had no idea how time passed for the doctor, even. I had never cared enough to find out.

Maybe he would grow old and die while I was jumping from body to body? Or what if his research project was just a passing fancy and it would never get published? Maybe there would be no way to find him, especially if he was self-centered enough to not consider some of us might want to reach him.

Lying down bleeding to death gave me time to think rather than try to do something. Because of this, what had been a routine calamity had turned into an incredibly frustrating prison. For the first time, I wanted something that had nothing to do with the situation in which I was. 

It occurred to me to wonder, just as a passing thought, what would happen if the stress of not being able to do what I want would become unbearable for me. 

Who would fill in for me?

Or would I stop existing?

I was filled with a completely new kind of dread by this consideration. How could I stay calm enough when all this possibility started to cascade upon possibility like this?

It was wreaking havoc to my tolerance for pain already. I was very pointedly feeling the crushed bones of my nether regions. This struggle and self-consciousness would make every single waking up more painful.

After a while of considering, as being pinned under crumbled buildings did provide me with plenty of time to think, I decided that the whole event with the doctor had done more harm than good.

As my body was slowly bleeding to death, I steeled my resolve and decided to leave the memory of the strange doctor behind. 

From here on I would again only be me, not someone to individually identify.

It was a comforting thought as I faded into darkness yet again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments appreciated!


End file.
